


Borealis

by starhugger



Category: Clockhand children - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhugger/pseuds/starhugger
Summary: "Every culture has spoken about heroes in legend, how they were born for greatness and able to accomplish otherworldly feats, just by having the will to try, and unshakable morals that they’ve had since birth. There’s no doubt that these stories are fun, but people tend to forget about those who never had a choice- either you become what you never wanted to be, or you die."
Relationships: Aurora/Cassandra (Implied), Aurora/Patrick (Mentioned)





	Borealis

The first thing I need you to understand is that I was like anybody else.

Every culture has spoken about heroes in legend, how they were born for greatness and able to accomplish otherworldly feats, just by having the will to try, and unshakable morals that they’ve had since birth. There’s no doubt that these stories are fun, but people tend to forget about those who never had a choice- either you become what you never wanted to be, or you die.

People tend to be surprised when I tell them this, but I was painfully average in the beginning. I wasn’t particularly stunning in any field- really the only thing that I’d ever been commended for was my loyalty to the Council. I was laid back at the time, but I did my work well, and it got me through many years of the same tasks. I did not expect, nor need, any extra rewards for this, and I never got them; I just truly, strongly believed in my people, and my leaders.

Honestly, I had it easy compared to others. Where many below me had to do manual labor, I sat back, in a rickety chair that I’d leaned back on one-too-many times, with a clipboard and a few sheets of paper attached. On it were dozens, if not _hundreds_ , of names, and check-boxes. My job was to count how many times each person did each task, and nothing else. If somebody fell behind, it was not my job to care when my higher-ups eventually came for them. I was told that I didn't have the time to wonder about where they would go once the doors closed behind them.

I think the problem started long before I actually noticed it. In retrospect, I have to wonder how much of my blind loyalism came from my beliefs, and how much came from sheer avoidance of anything that could cause my average life to fall apart. I think I knew that if I looked too hard, I would be faced with something horrible, and avoiding the issue would no longer be an option. Whatever I had been trying to do, though- it didn’t work.

It was a slow process, I now realize. The growing, _gnawing_ feeling in my gut, eating away at me but with no knowable source. At first I was wondering if I was paranoid of some unseen threat, and in a way, I was. I avoided staying home for far too long. I began to work even harder, investing so much time into my job that I was starting to forget that I was a person beyond it. I never skipped a day. I did not tire. I did not get sick. I would wake hours before I needed to, dress as finely as possible, and work harder than my peers. I was beginning to be celebrated by my higher-ups for my seemingly limitless potential, and yet I didn’t even have the time to notice it. I was too busy working.

I could not face it. I didn't know what _it_ was, but regardless, I would not let myself slow down enough to find out. I knew in reality that nothing was there, no monster in the small, dark living space I resided in, no figure in the rows of tired workers watching me from afar, and yet _it_ was somewhere. I began to avoid mirrors in fear that I would see it in my reflection.

Soon enough, my success paid off, despite not seeking it to begin with. I was allowed to stay home for one full day. I did not consider this to be a reward.

I spent most of the day pacing, shaking, checking my left and my right, tugging at the loose shirt I was wearing with a petrifying fear. No matter where I went, where I looked, how many people were around, _it_ was there. It only grew inside me like a cancerous growth, infecting my thoughts until it was the only thing left to think about. I spent my time sitting on the couch, and hating the fact that I was. In the quiet room that was my living space, I no longer had a place to run. No longer had a way to avoid the most horrible, terrible fact that a clockhand could ever realize: Something was wrong. Truly, undeniably _wrong_.

My face hurt. I felt as though I was choking on water, drowning in an infinite abyss of absolutely nothing. Of course I didn’t understand. Beings like me weren’t equipped to handle something like this, according to ourselves. _Everything is fine_ , I thought. _So why do I feel like this?_

  
I had little choice left except to figure that out for myself, but I was unable to figure out how to do so. I didn't _feel_ as though I was running from a problem, only that there was one, slowly ebbing into my life with no clear way out.

I couldn’t name or place the issue, and for the first time in my life, I felt uniquely, horribly trapped, with little opportunity to fix it on my own. The fear that this would result in me becoming a burden was hardly bearable to me, and I worried over the prospect that my own emotions would be an inconvenience to the Council somehow, on top of the already limitless things they provide to us.

But, if I didn't go to them, surely I would eventually crumble under it’s weight. The realization of this hurt more than anything else; the shame of thinking that whatever I was facing was unique to me led me to believe I was inadequate. After all, if I alone faced this, then it must have _come_ from me alone.

My terrified rambles were interrupted by something I had never experienced before. A knock at my door.

I looked up, and my brain quickly began to come up with any way to justify the idea that something was going to go wrong very quickly. Opening the door, I was greeted by a short, beaming man, with light brown skin, locks of red hair swept to one side, and piercing green eyes, accompanied by a few freckles. Something about his expression seemed far more colorful and genuine than most of what I got around here, and my heart slowly felt as though it was lulled into a calm rhythm. This was quickly dashed out the window when the man promptly told me that due to my efforts, I would be part of a ceremony, along with a few of the other best workers of this year. I tried my best to hide my nervousness, but he clearly noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry! There will be lots of people there. Isn’t too long. You’ll do great!” He said, quickly putting his hands up in an effort to look reassuring. It hardly worked, but I gave him a nervous smile. I could tell the poor guy was trying his best. He was dressed extremely well, and I had to wonder just how high up he had to have been. I only owned one suit, and it didn't look even close to the quality of his.

He beamed once again, giving me the thumbs up. I sighed softly, realizing I had no choice but to agree to go. How this guy had it in him to be cheerful over an event that was, frankly, really boring, was beyond my knowledge. He had me sign some piece of paper that would signify I am coming to the event (as if I had a choice), and I tried to push down the rest of my fear along with it. As the stranger slowly rolled up the paper and put it in his breast-pocket, he bid me farewell and started back down the street, probably to terrify the next best worker in the district- but not before I asked for his name.

"Abel."


End file.
